His name was Alfred
by ButterFish
Summary: Alfred is stuck in a nasty hotel room at night, and he calls Arthur to calm down. But Arthur tells him ghost stories, and Alfred gets even more scared, and soon he's in the middle of his own ghost story. Oneshot, if you squint you may see USUK.


**Note: **OKAY SO I've never tried writing horror/thriller before, and I really wanted to try. Please be aware that this might suck balls so hard that the balls disappear. Ohyes. So don't throw stuff at me if this isn't what you expected, and if it isn't scary at all :I

This is mostly a mix of my imagination and ghost stories I've heard all my life. Ohey, enjoy!

* * *

Alfred couldn't sleep. He had been staring at the same unfinished patch on the ceiling for the last two hours. Just who had painted that ceiling anyway? Whoever did it did a lousy job, and he had already decided on twenty ways to hunt that sucker down and make him go back to school. Or wherever they teach you how to hold a paintbrush.

The hotel room smelled of dust and rotten towels. Alfred crinkled his nose and tugged the duvet up to cover most of his face. Without his glasses on he could just make out the frame of an old mirror hanging on the wall opposite of him. A shudder ran down his spine, and he turned over to lie on his stomach, hiding his face in the fluffy pillow. He hated mirrors. Horror movies always have a scene with a mirror in them. At least those he has watched at Kiku's place had. He hated Japanese horror films. They always gave him nightmares and made it difficult for him to breathe. Being reminded of breathing Alfred lifted his head from the pillow and gulped down air. The rotten smell returned. Just who had left wet towels in here?

"_That is if it is towels that I smell…"_ His heart skipped a beat. A light laughter fell from his lips, and he turned over and sat up in bed. "What are you doing, Al'? Scaring yourself?" he whispered, slipping a hand through his hair. His forehead was sticky with sweat. Maybe because of the heat. He shoved the duvet aside and put on his slippers, then he went over to the window and pulled the curtains aside. It had gotten darker out there. Alfred pressed his nose to the window and gazed down at the empty backyard. A goal net had been set up, and someone had forgotten their football by it. A grin spread across Alfred's lips. Just how cool would it be to go for a game at night?

"_Oh, grow up. You have a meeting tomorrow._" He grabbed the handle and opened the window as wide as he could. The cold air blew in and cooled down his sweaty face. Alfred sighed and stretched his arms out into the night as if he wanted to catch the stars. It was a nice summer evening, and for a second he forgot all about not being able to sleep and having been offered such a lousy room. But then he tugged the curtains back to cover the open window and turned around, and the smell hit him immediately, with twofold strength it seemed. He grimaced and covered his nose with his shirt. Towels didn't smell like that. Dead people did.

Alfred choked. No way a dead person was hiding in here! He fled to the bed, kicked off his slippers and crept in under the duvet again. He grabbed his cell phone from the bedside table and huddled into himself. He needed to be calmed down.

"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.." He ran down the list of contacts, found the man's number and called it. With the phone squeezed between his shaking fingers and his ear pressed to the small screen, he waited for Arthur to answer his call. What was taking him so long? Duud. Duud. Duud. Du-click. Alfred's eyes lit up. "Arthur?"

"This is Arthur-" Oh, thank God! "-Kirkland's phone, I am not available right now. Try again later or leave a message with your name and telephone number, please." Alfred whined and smacked the phone down into the mattress.

"Bastard!" He tried calling again, but once more he just caught the answer machine's monotone voice. It sounded kind of freaky, and Alfred wasn't going to push his luck in fear for having one of Arthur's mysterious creatures picking up the phone, so he just left it at that. He huddled more into himself while closing his eyes tightly. He really had to sleep. But he wasn't tired anymore.

Someone was walking down the hallway. Alfred bit his lower lip as what sounded like a door being opened in the distance reached his ears, but the following bumps from feet moving were even scarier.

"_Just think of something else.. Think of something sweet, like.. Horses running over a flower field._" Alfred's heartbeat calmed down at the thought of two majestic horses jumping over a river in a risky stunt. But could he really be sure that those were real horses and not some ghost-copies?

The steps became louder. Alfred started sobbing and fumbled around with the sheet.

"Ghosts do not exist, ghosts do not exist!" He grabbed his phone and pressed all the buttons at once to find something in it somewhere that he could occupy his thoughts with. Hadn't he installed some kind of car crashing game?

Suddenly his phone rang. Arthur's name blinked on the screen. Alfred answered the call almost screaming his name,

"Arthur!" A grumpy voice answered tiredly,

"Alfred? What's wrong with you, calling at this time?" It was as if hearing Arthur's voice made all weird noises go away, and even the smell reduced itself. Alfred dared turning around to lie on his back and peeked up at the ceiling. The unfinished patch was still unfinished.

"Oh, Arthur, I am so relieved!"

"You? Relieved? What have you been up to? Don't tell me you've been watching scary movies again." Alfred gritted his teeth together and felt an embarrassed blush creep over his cheeks. He wasn't going to lie here and admit to Arthur that he was a coward!

"N-nnnooo," he drew out his words slowly, "why would you think that?"

"Because you just left a message on my answering machine going 'Ghosts do not exist!' along with what sounds like sobbing. Are you crying?" Alfred smacked himself. When he had called Arthur the second time, he must've forgotten to put down the phone. He couldn't really explain that message without revealing his childish fear for the supernatural, so instead he tried to avoid commenting on it.

"Ergh, I am stuck in this really nasty hotel room. I can't sleep." Arthur sighed and messed around with what appeared to be glasses. Noises from his kitchen filled up the silence between the two of them.

"Hmm?" Water started boiling. He was probably making tea.

"Hey, what's the time at your place?"

"Six. How about at your's?"

"About one in the evening."

"Oh, you're at the east coast?"

"Yeah, I'm taking a plane out of here tomorrow. Going to Europe."

"Where?"

"I don't care, it's all the same."

"Shut up." Alfred suppressed a chuckle. He could hear water being poured and the sound of Arthur taking a sip.

"Are you drinking tea?"

"Mhmm.." Alfred took in a deep breath as if he was able to smell it. He could just imagine what it was - Arthur always drinks lemon tea in the morning. He had tried tasting it himself, but he was no big fan of hot water with fake flavourings. Now, however, he would give his kidney for just one cup of Arthur's tea. It didn't taste good, but it made him calm down, and that he could need now. "Do you think there're ghosts in your room?" Alfred huffed.

"Why? Why would you ask that? Can you feel something?"

"Can I feel something? Through the phone? Are you nuts?"

"So many questions.." Alfred's gaze flickered. The room was soundless. Normally that was a good thing, but right now it wasn't. What if it was holding its breath? What was _it_ anyway? Arthur groaned.

"Alfred, I just asked you because of the message you left.. Are you scared?"

"Nnnnooo…?" He looked towards the window. Did something move? The curtains started fluttering lightly. He gasped. "Arthur," he whispered, "there's something at the window." He clutched the telephone tightly and slowly slipped down underneath the duvet again.

"What is at the window?"

"I don't know," he answered, panicked, "but it's moving." Arthur seemed to hesitate. A spoon clinked against a cup.

"Is your window open?"

"Yesss?"

"It's just the wind."

"You think?" Alfred took a deep breath. "Yes.. Yes, you're probably right.." He did open the window, right? His fright was soon replaced by anger. Too much! He was fucking America, the fucking US of A! He wasn't going to let some fluttering curtains scare him, no way! He kicked the duvet off and sat up in bed in such a hasty motion that the legs of the bed groaned under his weight. It sounded like someone moaning. He whined.

"Are you whining?" Arthur asked. He seemed amused. Alfred pressed the phone to his ear, so close it almost hurt.

"I am scared," he admitted in a low voice. Arthur started laughing. Alfred whined louder, grabbed his pillow and hugged it close. "Arthur, don't laugh! I am serious!" Arthur didn't stop laughing right away, but as he'd caught his breath again, he returned to the phone.

"Oh, Al', Al'.. Poor, little Al'.. It's like when you were a child." Alfred snuck his nose deep down into the fluffy pillow and closed his eyes.

"I know, but.. urgh, I am never going to fall asleep now."

"Want me to tell you a story?" Alfred blinked.

"A story?"

"To calm you down." Alfred hesitated. It sounded like a good idea. He slipped down to lie on his back, still holding the pillow close to his chest.

"O-okay.. Is it a good one?"

"An excellent one."

"Just a second, then. I'm gonna grab my duvet." Alfred left the phone and pulled his duvet up from the floor. He pulled it over his head and then grabbed the phone again. "Okay, I am ready."

"Good." Arthur took a sip of his tea. He cleared his throat. "Good, okay, it's about a high school girl."

"What's her name?"

"Alice."

"Is she an American?" Arthur growled. He was probably rolling his eyes, sitting in his kitchen in a robe while rolling his eyes. The thought amused Alfred and made him snicker.

"Well, okay, we can say she's an American. Will you shut up?" Alfred nodded eagerly though Arthur couldn't see it. He continued anyway. "So, Alice is in high school, and she's at her third year. Because she lives so far away from her school, she has decided to move from home and has rented a flat in a nearby complex. It's a cheap flat, not very neat, but she manages to shine up the place with plants and carpets and nice little figures that she puts on her shelves."

"What figures?" Arthur seemed to give it a thought.

"Mhmm, porcelain. Of ducks and stuff. But it's not important. She also has a lot of photos, and so she puts them up as well. The one she loves the most is the one of her best friend, Angel, so she hangs that in her bedroom.

So, it's Sunday, and Monday morning she's supposed to go to school, so she decides to go to bed early. She's really tired after having moved all day, so she sleeps tight. But in the middle of the night, she suddenly wakes up. She doesn't know why, her eyelids are still heavy, but instead of just turning around and sleeping, she sits up and looks around the dark bedroom. Then she suddenly sees it." Arthur holds a pause. Alfred's eyes has widened, and he kicks with his feet to make some fresh air slip in under the duvet.

"What? What does she see?" he asked. Arthur smirked, he could hear he was smirking.

"She sees an arm."

"An arm?"

"A floating arm." Alfred snickered. Arthur chuckled. "Yes, you're laughing, but she isn't, because it's not like any arm. It's old and it's wrinkled. It looks like it belongs to an old, old woman. It has no body attached to it, it's just floating there. A scream gets stuck in Alice's throat, but she can't let it out, and then the hand suddenly starts opening. A finger slowly moves and points towards one of her walls, and as Alice looks in the direction it's pointing, she sees the photo of Angel."

Alfred had started to feel uneasy. Was this story supposed to make him feel better? Then a smile crept over his lips. Oh, Arthur was trying to scare him? He huffed. _He_ wasn't going to be scared just from a silly story, so he kept listening, letting his gaze rest at the ceiling.

"Then what?"

"When Alice looks back, the arm is gone. She gets up and turns on the light, but there's no one. So she gets in bed and sleeps the night through.

The next morning she gets a call during her breakfast. As she answers the call, it's Angel's mother. The woman is crying, and Alice can hardly make out what she's saying, but then she understands. Angel has died." Alfred can't help but smile widely. Yeah right.

"How did she die?"

"She was run over." Arthur takes a sip of his tea. "Alice is startled, but she has to go through the classes that day. She keeps thinking of Angel and the arm she saw at night. She wonders if there is a connection, but she decides to shrug it off. She has never believed in the paranormal anyway.

She goes to bed early that evening, crying because of the loss of her friend. That night she wakes up as well, but this time she doesn't sit up right away. She is scared, she remembers the evening before. So she just keeps lying there, staring up into the ceiling. Then.." Arthur held hit breath. So did Alfred. He, too, was still staring up into the ceiling. He suddenly felt as if he wasn't himself, but Alice. And he wanted to know what he was seeing! Arthur still didn't speak.

"Then what, Arthur, then what?" he asked in a whisper. Arthur chuckled.

"Then the paint on the ceiling starts moving, and it forms a word. A name. Her mother's name, Amber." Alfred narrowed his gaze and gritted his teeth together. It was as if the patch had started to become covered. Was this ceiling spelling a name as well?

"_Don't believe his story, Alfred. Don't._" He rolled over and hugged the pillow even tighter. If that was possible. His forehead was resting against the mattress in an awkward position, but he didn't care.

"Alice screams and runs out of the room, but she has hardly entered her living room, then the phone rings. It's her father's name on the screen, so though she's sobbing with anxiety, she answers it. Her father tells her that her mother was in an accident.. She was been hit by a car and died.." Alfred hit the pillow with a closed fist.

"Oh, come on, Arthur! This is not a happy story!" he complained.

"I never said it was."

"You were supposed to calm me down!"

"The next day Alice is scared," Arthur continued, not really listening to Alfred. Alfred felt helpless. He tried putting the phone away, but only being able to hear Arthur mumble was scarier than the actual story, so he ended up picking it up again. "-her friend sleep over. The friend, Mark, agrees, and that night they sleep together. In the middle of the night Alice wakes up again, and she stares right up into a pointing finger. She screams and it wakes up Mark, but the arm is already gone by then. So she runs out of her bedroom, down the stairs and out into the street. She doesn't want to stay in her bedroom, she wants to escape. She runs across the street, but just as she does it, she remembers.

Angel died from being run over.

Her mother was hit by a car.

She turns around, but it's too late. Out of the dark a car comes and it crashes into her. She's thrown to the ground and hits it hard with her head. She can feel every bone in her body break, so hard is the hit. Just as she blacks out, she looks up into the face of an old women. The woman is pointing at her, and slowly a grin spreads over her lips. Then Alice blacks out."

"Bullshit!" Alfred cried, "bullshit, if she died, you wouldn't be able to tell the story about her!"

"..maybe I met her ghost."

"Don't say such things!"

"Are you scared?"

"Nnno!" Alfred looked around the room. "The story is crap! Why didn't her friend die?"

"Because his name didn't start with an A. You know, Angel, Amber, Alice.." He held a pause. "_Alfred_," he then continued. Alfred kicked the duvet.

"Stop it! I'll.. I'll cut the line!"

"And be all alone in your creepy room?" Alfred stared helplessly at his phone. He didn't want to be left without Arthur's voice. Not here. He looked around again and caught the sight of his reflection in the mirror. He hesitated, then put the phone on speaker.

"Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

"Keep telling stories.."

"Really?" Alfred cleared his throat. It suddenly felt very dry.

"They're not nice, but I don't want your voice to go away."

"Aww, Al'. If you weren't such a brat, my heart would've melted."

"Haha, oh, how funny. Speak, old man." Alfred ripped his gaze away from the mirror and grabbed his glasses off of the bedside table. He put them on.

"Okay, hmm.. There's the story about Tom. Tom was one day walking through town as he saw a market was being held. Just to spend some time, he decided to stroll around the stalls. There wasn't really anything exciting being sold, but as he was about to walk back home, he came across an old musical box. It was really cheap, and the woman at the stall was willing to lower the price even more if he would just buy it, for she was packing her stuff down. Tom decided to buy it and headed home with the box. He placed the box in the living room, thinking he could use it as a decoration, and then went to get lunch.

It wasn't until later that afternoon that Tom decided to try and see if the box could actually still play music. He took it and sat down in his sofa and took a strong grip around the handle. It took him some strength, but he got it moving, and the more he moved it, the easier it became. The box immediately started playing a sweet tune, and he smiled, rather satisfied with his buy." Arthur paused, probably to finish his tea. Alfred placed the phone on his pillow with the speakers facing him, sat up in bed and started to take off his shirt. It was getting even warmer in there. Had someone turned on the heat? In the middle of Summer?

"Continue," he said after a while as Arthur still didn't speak. Arthur made some wondering sounds.

"Yes.. It's just.. Hard. He was a good friend." Alfred raised his brows.

"Tom?"

"Yes.." Alfred's gaze flickered to his reflection again. Fucking mirror. "Then.. He heard something strange from the box. He couldn't quite make out what it was, so he pressed his ear to the box and kept turning the handle. There was a voice. Deep under the music, a male voice was gurgling. It went… hnngggrrrhhh… rraahh.."

"T-that's silly," Alfred giggled, but it was a nervous giggle. It felt as if someone was staring at him, and not just his reflection. He looked towards the closed door. The steps out in the hall had returned. He shuddered and grabbed the duvet again, though he was already sweating. He stuck his feet in underneath it. Ghosts eat feet, right?

"Tom thought it was strange. Why was there a male's voice mixed with the music? Then, suddenly, someone started running around somewhere in the house. He could hear the quick steps crossing the floor, and with a gasp he threw the box aside and got up. As soon as the music stopped playing, the feet stopped moving." Alfred bore his fingers deep down into the mattress. It wasn't just someone walking out there, the person was running. Now he was sure the person was running down the hallway! He wanted to speak up and make Arthur stop the story, but no sounds escaped his throat. He moved in bed to sit with his back pressed to the wall. He grabbed his phone off the pillow and held it in front of him, using the dim light from the screen to look around in the room. Everything seemed the same. Maybe. The curtains fluttered more forcefully. "Tom slowly walked around his house, but no one was there. So he went back to the music box. He wanted to put it back into his windowsill, but.. something.. in him made him pick it up and start turning the handle again. The male's voice returned.. Hnnnggghhraah… And the feet started running. But now the person wasn't just running around in circles, for suddenly the sounds grew louder and the person came towards him!"

Alfred flinched and directed the light towards the door. Someone was messing with the handle, the door was shaking. "Arthur," he whined in panic "someone is trying to get into my room!"

"Tom threw the box aside again," Arthur just kept speaking, calmly, but with an underlying tone of excitement, "but the handle on the box kept moving, the music kept playing! The person ran faster towards him, and Tom turned to flee, but he couldn't. He was stuck to the floor!" Alfred felt his breath hitch. His heart was speeding, and he tried to move his arms, but he couldn't. He really felt he couldn't! The sounds at the door grew more rapid. Alfred felt tears coming to his eyes, and he shook his head in fear.

"_This can't be happening to me.._"

"Now the door in to his living room slammed open behind him, and Tom looked over his shoulder, just in time to see a man stumbling towards him. But it wasn't any man.. For as he lifted his head and looked at Tom.. he had. no. face."

"Help!" The door swung open and Alfred screamed. He fell down from the bed, flailing his arms around in the air. The person at the door screamed, and Alfred tried covering his face. "Don't! Don't be faceless, go away, monster!"

"Sir, I am so sorry!" Sir? Alfred peeked through his fingers. At the door, a cleaning lady was standing. She looked just as shocked as him, and she was able to do so because _she had a face_.

"Oh, thank God.. Thank God!" Alfred fell back down to lie on his back. The lady bowed and quickly left the room, closing the door behind. Alfred drew in some heavy breaths to calm his heart down.

"Alfred? Alfred, what happened?" Arthur's voice was amused and worried. Alfred grabbed the phone and turned the speakers off.

"I'm okay," he mumbled with it pressed to his ear. He stumbled back into his feet and sat down on the bed, "it was just the cleaning lady." Arthur snickered.

"You were so scared!"

"No I wasn't!" Alfred said, then paused. "..maybe a little."

"Hnnggghrraaah," Arthur breathed, then kept laughing. Alfred rolled his eyes and ripped the duvet up to cover him.

"Shut up." Arthur took in a deep breath.

"Ahh, it's been nice, Alfred, but I really have to go. I have a plane to catch."

"What? At six?"

"We've been speaking for more than an hour, Alfred. It's almost eight over here."

"No shit?" Alfred looked at the time. True. Almost three at night now. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, thanks for the company."

"No problem. I'll see you tomorrow at Ludwig's place, okay?"

"Yeah.. Bye."

"Bye. Oh - and Alfred? …nhhggaarrhh." Alfred slammed the phone down onto the bedside table.

"Moron!" He crossed his arms and slumped back down to lie on his back. Well, now he most definitely couldn't sleep! Instead he got up and grabbed his shirt from the floor. He wiped some sweat off in it as he went over to the mirror that kept nagging him. He took a good, long look at himself in it.

He looked tired. Alfred stuck to fingers in under his glasses and peeled at his eyelid. He had dark rings under his eyes. And he looked like crap to put it mildly. Crap with glasses on, woo!

Alfred crinkled his nose. There was that smell again! The nasty, rotten smell. He looked around, then leapt to the window and ripped the curtains aside. No, it wasn't from outside. He tried sticking his nose out into the cold air, but it just smelled of vanilla and forlorn rain. Not rotten. He turned around and looked around the room. If he couldn't sleep, he could as well find out what caused the stink. He tried opening the closet, but there was just an extra pillow lying in there. It didn't smell. He went over to the bathroom and turned on the creepy, yellow light. He quickly looked around. Scraps of soap and body hair, nothing too bad. He turned the light off again and closed the door.

"Then what the hell is-.." Alfred's gaze fell to the door. The cleaning lady had only been in there for a few seconds, but she'd dropped a towel. Probably in her surprise as he screamed. The cloth was stuck in the door, so Alfred grabbed the handle and opened it, making the towel slump together on the floor. He kneeled and took in a deep breath. "Fuck!" He clenched his nose between two fingers. The towel reeked! He looked up. Another towel was lying in front of it. "What the hell?" Alfred got back onto his feet and stepped out into the hallway. All the way down, towels had been thrown. Wet, dirty towels, smelling horribly. Alfred felt uneasy. Was this some kind of joke? What kind of hotel changed wet towels with even dirtier ones? ..and at three at night? He grabbed his bomber jacket off of a chair and put it on before following the trail of cloths. His bare feet got stuck on the greasy floor. He felt like puking as he had to rip his heel free from a puddle of nasty liquid.

"_There's something wrong with this place.." _There was no light. He tried to find some kind of switch on the walls, but they were bare. They didn't even carry an old photo or some kind of painting. Alfred growled and crossed his arms in a shudder. He had reached the end of the hallway. He could go to the right or to the left. To the left there was nothing to see. To the right was yet a hallway, covered in towels. It lead down to the public bathroom. He hesitated. Maybe he should just head back and try and get some sleep. After all, this was none of his business. If the hotel owner couldn't control his employees, he wasn't the one with a loss in profit!

..but he was curious. So he turned to the right and kept walking while trying to avoid stepping on any towels. As he had expected, they led him right into the public bathroom. The men's bathroom, even, whatever a lady was doing in there. He stepped in. The cold pavement cooled down his feet, and he felt himself sigh in relief. He felt even more relieved as he looked around and determined that he was alone. Standing in a bathroom, wearing only boxers and a jacket, he was sure he was going to be the weirdo, and not whoever was using the lavatory at night.

The bathroom was parted in two. It was formed like a T, with a row of washbasins and mirrors, and another longer row of urinals and toilet stalls. The floor was completely clean, there was no towels in here. The trail ended outside the bathroom. Alfred snickered. He had probably just gotten all excited for nothing. He had to calm down. He moved to stand in front of a sink, turned on the water and ducked down to make his face wet. Feeling the cold liquid slip down his heated face made him relax, and as he straightened up again, he could even smile. For a second. For as he looked into the mirror, he could see the door to one of the stalls opening behind him, slowly. A cry got stuck in his throat. There was no wind in here, it had to be a person that had pushed the door. He grabbed around the sink and leaned forward, closer to the mirror, while his gaze kept resting at the door in the mirror. It opened even more. Then, a pair of white fingers closed around it from above. Alfred shook his head. No! No, that happened in horror movies, not in real life! He turned around and glared down at the stall, only to find a pair of black eyes staring back at him from above the door.

"Fuck!" Alfred fled towards the exit, but the door smacked closed and locked. He grabbed the handle and shook the door with all his strength, but it just wouldn't move. He hammered his forehead against it. "Open! Fucking open! Help! Someone!" The tears had returned. This was too much, this was way too much!

_Hnngghhr…_

Alfred stiffened. The sound came from behind him. He took in a deep breath, then he slowly looked over his shoulder. The girl was now standing in another stall, her head peeking out from above it. She was lurking at him with her soot-black eyes, but the more she showed of her face, the harder Alfred started sobbing. Eyes were all she had. No nose, no lips, just black eyes and long, dark hair. And a cleaning lady's uniform.

"Was it you?" he heard himself whisper. She blinked. Slowly. Then she threw herself towards him. Alfred screamed.

* * *

"Fucking moron!" Alfred woke as a fist slammed against his forehead. He whined and opened his eyes, sitting up in bed. In bed? He opened his eyes as the feeling of a duvet slipping off him woke him fully. He looked around. He was in a hospital, white and clean and with Arthur standing next to him. A not-so-happy Arthur. "What the fuck were you thinking? Sneaking around outside at night! Anything could've happened to you!"

"Outside?" Alfred looked around. "How did I come here? You found me in the bathroom?"

"What bathroom?" Arthur was glaring at him. He sighed annoyed as he leaned down and pulled Alfred into a hug. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Al'! I was worried! I got a call, telling me they had found you in the hotel's dumpster, all scratched up. What if some.. killers had found you? Damn, Al'.." Alfred blinked confused while Arthur hugged him close. Dumpster? Scratches? He didn't remember any of that!

"You're mistaken," he tried, stuttering, "I went to the bathroom, and there was a girl, and she attacked me." Arthur pulled back and gave him a cold glare.

"Stop it, this isn't another ghost story. I am serious."

"So am I!" Arthur snuck his nose into his hair. Alfred took in a deep breath and relaxed. How could he be upset with Arthur being so lovingly? But Arthur quickly pulled back, making a face of disgust.

"God, Alfred, you stink."

"No wonder if they found me in a dumpster," he mumbled and ran his fingers through his hair. It seemed clean, though. Arthur shook his head.

"No, you don't smell of garbage, more.. Hmm.. rotten towels." Arthur crinkled his nose. Alfred gave him an empty glare.

"..please tell me you're kidding?"

"Go take a bath." Arthur picked up his jacket and leaned down to kiss him, but he changed his mind and just blew him a kiss through the air. "I'll go get the nurse." He left the room before Alfred had the change to make up a protest. Instead he slumped back down to lie in the bed, all tired.

Just what had happened? All the could remember was the girl going at him, then.. Nothing! He stared up into the ceiling. It had an unfinished patch. Weird. It looked like the one at the hotel room. Alfred closed his eyes and opened them again. Most definitely like the one at the hotel. He felt a chill run down his spine. This wasn't the ceiling of a hospital. This was dark green, not white. He sat up in bed and looked around.

"What the..?" The room had changed. He was no longer at the hospital, but back at the hotel, in the middle of the night. The curtains fluttered. Someone walked down the hallway. Alfred crept up to sit with his back pressed to the wall as he noticed the phone lying next to him. He shook his head. No. No, what the fuck was going on? He picked it up and daringly put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, Alfred, where did you go? Did you fall asleep?" Arthur's voice replied, and Alfred sighed in relief. He had just fallen asleep while speaking to Arthur, of course! It had all been a dream! He laughed lightly into the phone, and Arthur responded to it with a chuckle. "Little Al'.. Do you want another story?" Alfred shook his head and slipped back down underneath the duvet.

"I think I have had enough for today," he whispered. Arthur chuckled.

"Enough? Oh, no, Alfred. It has just begun. I have a great story.." The footsteps stopped outside his door. Alfred warily looked towards it.

"…Arthur?" Someone grabbed at the handle and turned it down. The door started slipping open. "Arthur, don't.. I.. Don't.." The door smacked open. Arthur took a sip of his tea.

"This is a story about a boy named Alfred."


End file.
